


Family Traditions

by Stayawhile



Category: Eureka
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stayawhile/pseuds/Stayawhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/203547/chapters/301873">Studies in Hydrodynamics</a>, although this story was actually written first, for a Livejournal ficathon.  It's fluff.  Happy, cheery, festive holiday fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Traditions

“Where did you grow up, in a Norman Rockwell painting?” I say. Jack just grins at me. “Not only do we have to have a, quote unquote, real tree, but we actually have to go out into the woods, tromp around searching for exactly the right one, and then cut it down and drag it back ourselves? Very retro, Jack.”   

“Actually, it’s very manly. I’ll let you carry the axe if you stop complaining.” I hear a guffaw from the kitchen, but I just roll my eyes and follow him up the stairs, musing on how nicely his old Levis fit. The air is crisp and cold, leaves crunching underfoot as we make our way into the woods. “Sure you don’t want the axe?” he says.  

“Nope,” I tell him. If you won’t let me use the handheld laser cutter, you can carry that thing yourself.”   

“It isn’t a tradition if we change it,” he replies. “That’s kind of the point, genius.”   

“Well, then, lead on, oh manly woodsman.” I’m going for sarcasm, but when he turns back to me and grins, I can’t maintain it. Instead I reach out and take his hand.  

It’s all a game anyways. It was from the start, we just took a while to figure that out.  

The sky is pale, and I wonder if there’s snow ahead. Normally, I’d pull out my PDA and check in with the weather lab, but Jack insisted I leave it behind. Nothing but the two of us, the soft whisper of wind in the trees, our footsteps falling into rhythm, and gray branches like complicated lace against the clouds.   

“Is this what it was like?” I ask.  

“Sort of,” Jack replies. “The years we were in the states for Christmas, anyway. We’d go up to my grandparents’ place in Michigan, and me and Dad and Grandpa would go out to get the tree. Colder than here. I remember when I was twelve, we’d just gotten back from a posting in Okinawa, and going from that to below zero temps was killing me.” It’s no wonder he’s got a thing about home, my former army brat. He grew up in eight different countries, never stayed anywhere long enough to put down roots.   

I spot a likely specimen. “Hey, how about that one?” Jack circles it, scrutinizing every branch, then stands back for a wider view.   

“Not bad,” he says. “Nice and full, fairly symmetrical. Think it’s tall enough?”   

“Couple inches taller than me. Should fit. You want to take the first cut?” He stares at me, then shakes his head sadly. “What? What’s wrong with it?”  

“You can’t just take the first tree you see! I admit it’s a good candidate, but we need to look around some more. Make sure there isn’t a better one.” He laughs. “Dad and Grandpa used to argue about which tree was the best, and then they’d ask me to pick. It felt like such an important decision, like Christmas depended on me picking just the right tree. I probably drove them nuts, I took so long to make up my mind.”  

I put my hands on my hips. “Is this your way of telling me we’re going to be out here for hours, looking at every single pine tree within a ten mile radius?” He steps in, closing the space between us till we’re almost touching.  

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he says softly, and when he kisses me, I shiver, not from the cold.   

 

An hour or so later, we lift that very same tree onto our shoulders and head back to the bunker. SARAH swings the door open and we carefully maneuver down the stairs and into the living room. The smell of pine mixes with something spicy, maybe cinnamon or ginger.  

 “Hi, guys!” Zoe bounces toward us, and looks appreciatively at the tree. “Nice one, Dad.” Jack’s shaking pine needles out of his hair.   

“Tell him, he picked it.” Zoe beams at me, and I grin back. That may be the best, most surprising thing about all of it, the way she’s accepted the changes this year has brought. She’s happy that her dad is happy, and she seems to actually like me. I always knew I’d be a lousy parent, and what happened with Callister proved it, I think. But somehow I seem to do okay as a stepfather.   

“I’m sure it was a very scientifically sound choice, based on a complex formula of height-to-thickness ratio and needle density,” she teases.   

“Nope, pure instinct,” I say. We have our own game.  

“You’re learning,” she replies. “Pretty soon you’ll have your PhD in Carter studies.”    

After we’ve wrestled the tree into the stand, Jack takes first shower. I ask for coffee, but SARAH informs me she is serving only cocoa and mulled cider this afternoon.   

“Coffee is a stimulant, and I have been asked to make sure you relax,” the house tells me. I glare at Allison, but she only smiles and continues rolling out cookie dough. I sit at the counter and request cider. I’ve given up arguing with SARAH, and I’m in too good a mood to threaten radical reprogramming. And the cider does smell good.  

Zoe pulls a baking sheet out of the oven, and smiles. “Perfect, SARAH!” she says. I reach for one, but she slaps my hand away. “First, they’re hot, and second, we have to decorate them before we eat one.”   

“Too many rules,” I grumble, wrapping my cold hands around a cup of cider. “How am I supposed to relax, here?”  

Allison looks up from the counter, where she has begun stamping out shapes. Reindeer, snowmen, candy canes, trees, stars. “Not rules, Nathan. Rituals. That’s what traditions are. And we agreed, each of us got to bring a tradition to our first Christmas together.”  

“Okay,” I shrug, and lean over the counter to press my lips to hers. Zoe has her back to us, and the kiss deepens. We break off, smiling, as she turns around.   

“All right, enough with the PDA. Is that the last batch?” The two of them carefully lift the cookies up from the floury countertop and lay them on another baking sheet.  A snowman breaks in half, and Zoe drops the pieces on the counter in front of me with a wink.

“Thanks for helping, Zoe,” Allison says quietly. “I loved doing this with my mother, and I used to think that someday I’d do this with a daughter of my own—” She breaks off. “Not that I’m trying to be your mother, I don’t—”   

Zoe puts her arms around her, and I see Allison’s eyes well up. “Don’t worry about it, Allison. No such thing as too much family, right?” The girl is more than smart; she’s wise, like her father.  

“Right. It was always just me and mom, so it’s kind of amazing to be sharing this with anyone else.” Allie’s pulling small bowls out of the cupboard, and I notice her surreptitious swipe at her eyes before she turns back.   

“Your mom was, what, some kind of surgeon?”   

“Orthopedic surgeon.” Allie replies. “She put in pretty long hours, and she didn’t have a lot of time for, well, domestic activities.” Not a lot of time for you, I fill in silently, having heard Allie’s childhood stories already. “She did make the effort for Christmas, though, and we always made sugar cookies and decorated them.”   

SARAH chimes in. “The ingredients for icing are all in the left hand lower cupboard. I have also provided food coloring, seven different colors of sprinkles, and cinnamon dots. I hope it will be sufficient.”   

“More than sufficient, SARAH,” says Allie.

Jack emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a terrycloth robe and rubbing his hair with a towel. He’s such a clean all-American boy, I want to grab him and kiss him till his eyes glaze over, but this isn’t the time. “My turn,” I say, rising from the kitchen stool.    

By the time I’m clean and dressed, they’re all around the table, along with six bowls of different-colored frosting, little bottles of sprinkles and plates of cookies. They’re laughing—well, Kevin isn’t, but he’s got a little half-smile on his face, and that’s a lot. “Hey Kev, good to see you,” I say. He looks up at me, doesn’t say anything, but I see that he is spreading icing in careful parallel lines across his candy cane. Participating. We were all worried that the changes would upset his equilibrium, and they have, but not in a negative way. I sit down, grab a snowman-shaped cookie and get to work.  

“So, Nathan, when are you going to share your tradition?” Zoe asks, her voice teasing.   Inwardly, I groan. I should have made up something, anything. I attempt a dignified tone. “My tradition is a surprise. You’ll find out when it’s time, and not before.” Everybody else’s traditions are so…nice. I’m slowly learning to repress certain personality traits, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to hold back my snarky, controlling side, the one that gets a sneaky enjoyment out of making people uncomfortable. Family isn’t something I’ve ever been good at, and this, crazy as it is, may be my last, best chance at getting it right.  

I turn my attention back to the cookies.    

Later, SARAH’s playing Christmas carols, which she has informed us is the tradition she has chosen. Of course, the house considers herself a family member; this is Eureka. The three of us sit on the sofa, watching as Zoe and Kevin decorate the tree. She’s good with him, and he seems to like doing things with her. He places each ornament precisely, cocking his head and judging the distance between them. I’ve seen enough of his drawings to know he has a good eye for proportion and color.   

I’m in the middle, between Jack and Allison. My family, my lovers. Her head is on my shoulder, and Jack’s arm is behind me as he reaches over to play with her hair. She kisses his fingertips. I’ve got his other hand on my thigh, resting loosely in mine, and if I still don’t understand why and how I got so lucky, I’ve finally learned to accept it. They love me, they love each other, and ever since that first astonishing night together, it’s only gotten better. I’m getting a little maudlin, I decide. Maybe convincing SARAH to spike the mulled cider with rum wasn’t my brightest idea. Then again, my brightest ideas have created new branches of science; they can’t all be up to that standard.  

Zoe turns and smiles at us. “You guys are too cute. Seriously, going into a diabetic coma any minute now.” She runs up the stairs and comes back with a box. “Okay, time for my tradition.” I’m pretty sure Jack knows what it is, but I don’t.  

“When I was little, I used to make an ornament for each of my parents every year. I haven’t done it for a while, but this year…” she stops, suddenly awkward. “When Kevin saw me making them, he did some too. So I guess this is our tradition now.” Kevin has been staring fixedly at the tree, but when she hands the box to him, he turns to us. Allie lets out a little gasp, and when I turn my head her eyes are wide, fixed on Zoe, who gives her a little shrug and a smile. Kevin, his expression unchanged, hands us three identical ornaments, made of wires and beads. I examine the intricate designs of color and line, wondering if the patterns hold some complex meaning we cannot understand. Each of us thanks him, and the moment feels oddly solemn, like a blessing.  

He hands the box back to Zoe, and she removes a sparkly, five-pointed gold star and hands it to Jack. “Merry Christmas, Dad.” She leans over to hug him.  

“Merry Christmas, Zo. Thank you. For everything,” he whispers into her hair.   

Allison gets hers next, a beaded heart, mostly green, but with three overlapping smaller hearts woven into the center, in silver, gold, and red. Allie’s voice is husky as they embrace.   

Then she turns to me. “And for you, Nathan,” she says, handing it over with a flourish. Mine is gold too. It looks a little like a coin, with a raised profile standing out from the surface. I study it for a moment, then laugh. “It’s a little Nobel medal, isn’t it?”   

Zoe grins. “Awarded for the synthesis of three disparate elements into a stable, unified phenomenon.” She brushes a quick kiss on my cheek, and I draw her closer, unable to find words.   

Kevin is once again transfixed by the Christmas tree, but the other three faces all turn in my direction.

“Well?” says Allison, raising an eyebrow.  

“Sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow?” I’m being ridiculous, and I know it.   

“Yes,” says Jack pointedly. “Tomorrow we’re going to Vincent’s Festive Feast, or whatever he’s calling it. Tonight is just for family.”  

I get up and retrieve the boxes from the upstairs hall. When I return, the three of them are sitting on the couch with expectant looks on their faces. “Thief,” I growl at Zoe, who has taken my place between them. She sticks out her tongue, and I smile as I check the tags and place a box in each lap. There’s one for Kevin, too, but he’s had a lot more interaction than usual today, so I decide not to interrupt his silent study of the tree.  

I lean back against the wall, next to the fireplace, and watch as they unwrap, laughing and speculating on the contents. Zoe pulls hers out first.  “It’s…a Christmas sweater.”

She holds it up. It’s bright green, with a snowman woven into the front, stovepipe hat and all. Jack unfolds a red sweater with a large Santa face and the words “ho ho ho.” Allie’s got a cardigan, with gold jingle bells for buttons and brightly colored ornaments all over it.  

“And that’s my Christmas tradition,” I smirk. They’re all staring at me, dumbfounded. I guess I have to explain.  

“My mother thought my father was too serious, didn’t know how to have fun. I can’t say she was wrong.” The phrase that comes to mind is “self-righteous tightass,” but I won’t spoil the mood. “So every year she would give us silly Christmas sweaters, and make us wear them all day.” It was one of the few times he gave in to her, as I recall.  

Jack is laughing out loud, while Allie regards her sweater with a rueful smile. Zoe is openmouthed, appalled. “You don’t mean…you’re not expecting me to wear this tomorrow, are you?”   

I grin. She’s a fashion-conscious teenager, and I get that. Hell, I’m pretty fussy about the suits I buy. I figure I’ll let her off the hook, but Jack speaks up first.  

“You bet! This is Nathan’s tradition, and we’re all going to wear them to Café Diem tomorrow. Right, Allie?” They share a glance.  

“Of course,” she answers cheerfully. Zoe looks from one to the other, her face falling. Jack gives her a sideways smile, and she sighs, giving in.   

“At least I look good in green.” She holds it up, then smiles at me. “I assume you’ve got one too, Nathan.” The glint in her eye tells me I won’t be able to get away with a good suit and a festive tie. 

“Mine has reindeer,” I admit. It’s the last present my mother sent me, and I never put it on, but I kept it. She always told me I needed a family, but she was gone well before I married Allie. I think she’d like the one I have now, even though it isn’t the standard model. I’ll wear it for her, and for Zoe.   

That night, after Zoe and Kevin are asleep, there is passion and tenderness, giving and taking and sharing. Three is a delicate balance sometimes, but I know now, how much I need both of them. I lie awake for a while, afterward, content, listening to their soft, even breathing, as the glowing face of the clock turns Christmas Eve into Christmas Day. Our first Christmas together, as lovers and partners and co-parents. As family.    


End file.
